Sound The Bones

I am a Trinidadian woman with a long maternal line. A legacy of mothers who does leave. Women who does conceive and abandon all they child.

The Obeah Man

Once upon a time, in a Brooklyn branch of Duane Reade down Borough Hall, I called upon an obeah man…

I was off to see el brujo who, in his East 116th apartment, sat in wait of me. And there occurred the inception of a violation from which it would take three years to become free. 

I Wrestle, I Rant,

but Writing Has Agency

and Completes What I Can’t

I—Writing—not allowing you to succumb to your history. Not for appearance of normalcy. Not for family gathering holiday festivities. I proclaim you estranged. I give you my name.

It’s Ableist To Ask Me What I Eat

There’s a man I no longer talk to. A grad school peer. A cohort inclusion, a writing partner who thought it fair to repeatedly probe my pancreas, my fridge. My lunch bag, my diet, the ridge developing between my eyebrows when I am asked to figure out how…